I gave away
my beauty
to my daughter
The light in my eyes
burning dimmer
more compassionately.
The wrinkles,
sagging
in the creases.
Apron belly replacing
a pair of 11’s
I once worked hard
to achieve
like it mattered.
Only a mother could know
the broken self
remaining after building
a human.
Pieces of me pulled out of
bones and dreams and plasma
incomplete now forever in body and soul
without my child.
Joints, bones creak on unsteady knees
Joints smoking peppermint sushi horsebackriding
mothers give up
everything.
They sacrifice
time- hobbies, youth, sleep.
The reflection in the mirror
now only tolerable
with her next to me in it.
What did my mother give up?
What was stolen through the
umbilical cord?
You stripped the enamel off
my teeth,
she accused,
I had hemorrhoids from
pushing,
my heart was never the same,
empty without you in it.
It could have been worse—
Some mothers become allergic
to shrimp.
The secret to motherhood is
loss.
Loss of hair identity
muscle calcium 20/20 vision
identity friends
identity.
An exchange
molecule for molecule
what is taken is given freely.
What was lost—?
Everything,
everything,
everything.
I’d give it away again.
Originally published in Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024).
In the same year
that I made a human
my husband embarked on
the greatest journey of his
young, capable life.
The year I built
an extra set of
bones and teeth
a second heart
arranging them into a breathing body
he assembled glass
slices of wood
pillars and beams
into a house.
While he made a home,
I was a home.
When I was done being a home,
he provided one.
I know no greater examples of craftsmanship than these.
The journey took him one year
and me
just short of
nine months.
For us to go from
container to container.
Each building a masterpiece
from our own fluids
in our own ways.
Every square inch
utter
perfection.
This is what it meant to be partners.
We were fluids
pouring into each other
taking turns doing the holding.
Meanwhile the Earth is mother to
all mothers
simultaneously.
Forever holding us.
This is what it means to be
children
together.
Originally published in Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024).
Svetlana Litvinchuk is a permaculture consultant and farmer who holds BAs from the University of New Mexico. Her debut chapbook, Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024) is now available and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sky Island Journal, Eunoia Review, Big Windows Review, and Longhouse Press. Originally from Kyiv, Ukraine, she now lives with her husband and daughter on their organic farm in the Arkansas Ozarks.